


Memoirs of Youth

by scheherazade



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazade/pseuds/scheherazade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stories should make sense, Renji thinks. Even if there is no archplot, no fairytale ending, there must still exist an internal logic, some quiet faith that binds the pages together like a spine."</p><p>An achronological retelling of Yanagi Renji's youth. Beware of tense shifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memoirs of Youth

**Author's Note:**

> For [acchikocchi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/acchikocchi). <3

On Sundays, Renji likes to wake early and watch the sunrise. The slanting morning light makes his cluttered apartment seem larger than it actually is. He tries to keep things orderly, but the space is small and the memories too many.

He often sits by the window at night. Takatsuki is quiet at these hours. If he listens, he can just barely hear the noises from the JR station. He can see a few lights in the distance, pinpricks of red and yellow against the cityscape in silhouette. The school where he teaches is somewhere out there. Somewhere below is a familiar road he walks everyday on his way to work, and somewhere on that road is a vending machine that ponders too long before spitting out your drink. 

He knows all this because this is his. A life. He is far from his family and childhood friends, but it is only natural that leaves should scatter with the wind. It has been three years since he left university, ten since the start of high school, and longer than he cares to think since Tokyo, before Kanagawa.

Now he has lessons to prepare and tests to grade. He has colleagues, acquaintances, and a few people who might even be friends.

It's not a bad life. But in August, when the weather is hot, he leaves the windows open for days on end. Sometimes he prays for rain; sometimes he wants to scream. Too often it feels like he can't breathe properly, here, in this city halfway between Kyoto and Osaka, suspended between a lifetime ago and a lifetime still to come.

 

* * *

 

Niou showed up to junior high graduation with a bruise purpling the corner of his mouth, lip glossy with still-drying cracks. Gen'ichirou scowled. Seiichi said nothing, just removed his jacket from the chair he'd saved for Niou. Yagyuu was impassive.

It was an otherwise perfect spring day. Renji had hoped Sadaharu might show up. He'd mentioned the date, casually, over email. No doubt Sadaharu would have accepted the invitation had he asked outright. But Renji found it undignified, the act of clinging.

It was only a ceremony, after all. What did it matter.

Akaya gave them gifts. Candy and headphones for Marui, exercise bands for Jackal, CDs for Yagyuu and Niou, professional grade racquet strings for Yukimura-buchou, and a stress ball for Sanada-fukubuchou.

Seiichi snickered at the look on Gen'ichirou's face. Renji elbowed him. 

"Thank you," Gen'ichirou managed despite the flush creeping up his neck. "Take good care of the team next year, Akaya."

For Renji there was a collector's edition of _Ukikusa_ , and — with shuffling feet — a letter. The bottom dropped out of Renji's stomach. Then Akaya said, "Mom helped me write some of it so it sounds weird probably, since I'm no good with words and stuff, even though you helped me a lot with school and with tennis and all that. So. Um."

Akaya bowed so low Renji thought he might hit his head on the ground. 

"Thank you for everything, Yanagi-senpai!"

"Is it all right if I read this now?" Renji asked. Akaya nodded, and stood around fidgeting while Renji unfolded the paper. It was a thank-you letter, written with as much grace as Kirihara-san could inject between Akaya's awkward phrasing and sloppy penmanship. 

It was Akaya's reassurance to him — to all of them, Renji supposed — that he would be the captain they wanted him to be. Perhaps Akaya had felt too intimidated by Gen'ichirou, still, to send the letter to him. Perhaps he thought it inappropriate to bother Seiichi with such things now that Seiichi was going pro. 

But Renji was his Yanagi-senpai, so of course Akaya would write to him. 

He gave the younger boy a smile. "I know you'll be a good captain, Akaya. We all look forward to your progress."

Niou slouched up to him later, glanced at the letter in Renji's hand and smirked. 

"Akaya finally confessed? Don't tell me you broke his heart."

"He's a tough kid," Renji deadpanned. Niou just laughed.

At home, Renji slipped the letter between two Souseki volumes on his bookshelf and never looked at it again.

 

* * *

 

Gen'ichirou returns his emails every Saturday morning, always punctual, never saying too much. Checking up on him, is how Renji interprets their correspondence. Gen'ichirou will be a good grandfather one day.

Renji watches Seiichi's matches when he can. Seiichi calls once in a while, usually when he's in Japan, and then for a few hours it's as if nothing has changed. Sometimes he sends postcards from tournament cities: Sydney, Miami, London, Madrid. Renji keeps all of them in a photo album, leaving two blank pages between those postcards and the old pictures from junior high. He tries not to think about it too hard. Some days, he feels Seiichi's absence like a missing limb.

Sadaharu used to drop by whenever he was in Osaka on business. The frequency of these visits steadily decreases over the years and months, but they never quite stop. Renji thinks he could plot their relationship as a curve forever approaching the asymptote of letting go. He wonders whose fault that is.

There was a time, once, when he assumed they would always be together. Now they look back on those days with nostalgic indulgence and acknowledge that life rarely works out the way ten year olds envision it to be. Even if those ten year olds were Inui Sadaharu and Yanagi Renji.

He visits his family during school vacations and lets his mother fuss over him. His father asks about his work in the polite way that makes it feel like ritual and not actual concern. They have long, civil arguments over money management and Renji's plans for the future. In the end, his mother always gives in first.

"As long as you're happy," she says, and Renji doesn't have the heart to tell her otherwise.

 

* * *

 

Their third year of high school, Seiichi made four tournament finals, beat Tim Henman at Wimbledon, and was named ATP newcomer of the year.

Akaya quit school to go train at a tennis academy in America. Gen'ichirou played as a reserve on the high school team. Renji never tried out.

That year, Renji watched Gen'ichirou stumble his way through a relationship with sweet Toshiko-chan from class 2B. Marui bet that she would call it off after a month; Jackal gave her two. Renji collected ¥2,000 from the both of them when Gen'ichirou dumped her after three weeks.

A few days before exams, Yagyuu sat down with him at lunch and suggested that they play some tennis after school. For old times' sake. Renji glanced across the table at Gen'ichirou, who shrugged. 

"Did you ask Niou?"

Yagyuu said he would, if Sanada-kun liked. 

They went to the public courts. Gen'ichirou stayed half an hour, beat Yagyuu 6-1 while Renji called the lines. After Gen'ichirou left, Renji let Yagyuu tease him into a leisurely tiebreak set. They rallied, avoiding the sharpest angles and hitting more towards each other than the lines.

Niou showed up midway through the tiebreak. Renji put away a volley for 3-3 and waved to Niou who had paused by the chain link fence, not entering the court. 

"Almost done, if you want the next match."

Niou looked at Yagyuu instead. Yagyuu's poker face was flawless, and Niou bared his teeth in an approximation of a smile.

"I don't think so. But thanks."

Yagyuu took the match 7-6, after winning four straight points from Renji.

"Please don't drag me into your fights," Renji said later, as they were packing up. Yagyuu pretended not to understand. 

 

* * *

 

Lately, Harino-sensei has been trying to be subtle about her crush on him. "Trying" being the operative word. Renji knows. Renji's colleagues know. Even some of Renji's students know, and it is making him wish that people were not so inclined to gossip. 

Harino Kaori is a handsome woman, a brilliant science teacher, a kind person — but he is simply not interested. Renji has been trying to tell her this without actually spelling it out, but so far it all seems to have failed rather miserably.

She approaches him one day after a faculty meeting and asks if Yanagi-sensei is doing anything later. Perhaps he might have time to get a cup of coffee with her? 

Renji considers replying that he is not interested, thank you, Harino-sensei. He has never been good at this. He excuses himself with an apology instead, saying that he still has a pile of essays to grade for tomorrow. Perhaps some other time.

Harino-sensei only looks slightly put out. Some other time then, she says with determination. See you tomorrow, Yanagi-sensei.

Renji bids her a good evening and wonders why, after all this time, he is still a coward.

 

* * *

 

He is waiting for the train one morning when a voice behind him says, "Long time no see, Yanagi Renji." He turns to find a stranger with tousled black hair and a grin so familiar that Renji could have sworn— 

" _Niou?_ " 

His old teammate's grin widens, and some strange warmth tugs Renji's lips into an answering smile. "Niou Masaharu. It's been a long time. What are you doing in Takatsuki?"

Niou shrugs and the fabric of his windbreaker sighs. "This and that. You know."

A rumble warns them that the train is arriving. Renji wonders if he should give Niou his phone number, or address, or say something about meeting up at a later time. But before he can open his mouth to do any of the above, Niou steps close and whispers a phone number in his ear.

"Call me," Niou says.

How very typical of Niou, Renji thinks on the train, to do something like this. What if Renji is busy, or on his way out of town? What if he didn't hear correctly, or forgot the number before he got a chance to write it down?

Two days later, Renji catches himself absently rubbing his ear while presiding over a pop quiz. He drops his hand.

He finally calls Niou after school. Renji wonders if Niou will be angry about the delay. Perhaps he will make an excuse and decline. Perhaps he has already left Takatsuki.

Except Niou has not.

"Yanagi-sensei."

Renji doesn't ask how Niou knows where he works. "Sorry I was not able to call earlier. How are you?"

"Fine, fine. How's your school?"

"Same as always."

"Pity."

"It isn't so bad."

"So, you doing anything tonight?"

This is the part where he should have lied and made up an excuse, Renji will think later. Maybe it's because Niou catches him off guard. He hears himself say, 

"What did you have in mind?"

"Can't predict my thoughts anymore?" Niou's smirk is almost audible. "Let's get something to eat. I'll meet you at the station. Seven, by the north gate."

Renji agrees before his brain manages to catch up to his vocal cords, and by then Niou has already hung up.

 

* * *

 

Stories should make sense, Renji thinks. Even if there is no archplot, no fairytale ending, there must still exist an internal logic, some quiet faith that binds the pages together like a spine.

His final year at university, Renji handed in a term paper one week late, was rejected from his top choice graduate program, and turned down the offer from his second choice. The scholarship was insufficient, he told his research advisor. Shio-sensei suggested that he take some time off; teach, perhaps; make a little money; try again next year.

Renji found a job far enough from home to avoid the disappointment his parents never quite vocalized. He didn't hate teaching. He got a small apartment, facing east. He enjoyed the free time. Perhaps he would stay here, he thought. No one expected much of him. It was a strange feeling. 

The year went by. The deadlines for graduate school applications went by. He corrected test papers and assigned readings and wrote no essays of his own.

Another year, and another. And he stayed, and stayed, and stays.

 

* * *

 

"Didn't expect you to end up in a place like this, Yanagi."

"Neither did I."

Niou grins, dangling his sake cup between two fingers. "I met this guy in LA," he says. "Japanese-American. University student. Studying economics and biology, but said he wanted to be a teacher. To change the world, one student at a time."

"Sounds like quite a dream."

"You don't think he can do it?"

"I don't know him."

"But you wouldn't."

"Know him?"

"Do it. Change the world by teaching underprivileged kids."

Renji drinks his tea. "That's not really my area."

"What's your area?"

"Tennis," Renji says, just a beat too slow for comedic effect. 

Niou laughs anyway. "How's Yukimura doing?"

"He played Murray at the US Open. Did you watch?"

"It was at three in the morning."

"They show replays."

"I'd already seen the score by then." Niou refills his cup. "Anyway, I meant personally. You still keep in touch?"

"Seiichi was in Tokyo last winter for New Year's. I try to catch him whenever he comes home."

"Yeah? I used to wonder if people actually stayed friends for years and years, or if it was just urban myth."

Renji considers the empty plates on the table between them. "We're here now."

Niou lifts his cup in a mock toast. " _We_ weren't friends."

"I'm wounded."

"You'll live."

Renji smiles into his tea. "So what are you doing, now that you're back in Japan?"

"Didn't I say?"

"I don't even know what you do."

"Rude of me." Niou raises one eyebrow, voice teasing. "How about I let you guess."

Renji...isn't sure what to make of that. They've talked extensively about Niou's travels — he hasn't been back to Japan since high school it seems. America, Korea, Taiwan, the Philippines, and one impromptu spring in Trieste. But as to what he was doing all this time, Niou has not given so much as a hint.

"Insurance actuary," Renji says finally, and Niou almost falls out of his seat laughing.

"You're not serious," Niou snickers. 

"You were always good at math."

Niou studies him for a moment. "And you were always the driest sense of humor. You haven't changed much."

"Have you?"

Niou shrugs. "I'm an actor," he answers. 

"So you were acting abroad."

"Not much. That's why I came back."

"To Osaka."

"For now." Niou stretches his arms and lets them fall against the backrest like some seated crucifix. He tugs at his collar, leaves the top two buttons undone. "I like big cities. People are faster, sharper."

"Even cities slow down after a while."

"Personal experience?"

"Teaching high school doesn't exactly lend itself to an exciting social life."

"No? I'd think Yanagi-sensei would be in high demand." Niou's eyes are laughing. "When's the last time you went on a date?"

Renji takes a sip of tea.

"Does this count?" he asks, and Niou's smirk turns into a smile.

 

* * *

 

This isn't like him. Maybe that's why he does it.

He hears Niou get up in the middle of the night. Clothes rustling, bathroom faucet running. His floor creaks. The door clicks softly shut. 

The window is open, letting in a breeze that cools the sticky sheets. Renji stretches his legs, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

There is a new interview with Seiichi in an online magazine. "The Rising Son of the Far East," reads the headline, and it only gets worse from there. Renji counts a grand total of two questions about tennis. The interviewer is much more interested in asking Seiichi about his childhood, his family, his habits, his affections.

 _There's no one right now,_ Seiichi says. The accompanying photograph shows his sweetest smile. _Sorry to disappoint! Maybe after tennis, I think definitely. But for now, I'm happy._

Renji wonders if Seiichi is lying. He remembers soft lips and calloused fingers, ten years ago, behind the Rikkai tennis courts on an empty Saturday afternoon. A rueful laugh. _This isn't working._ A regret.

He hopes Seiichi meant it when he said, _I'm happy_.

 

* * *

 

Secrets, a ten-year-old Renji had learned from older girl cousins, were an important part of sleepovers. Just like scary stories and blanket forts, well stocked with snacks and pillows and Sadaharu's big flashlight.

"I have an observation," Renji said very solemnly.

Sadaharu sat up straighter, brushing rice cracker crumbs off his shirt. He adjusted the flashlight so it didn't point directly in their faces. "What is it?"

"First promise you won't write it in your notebook. Until we have a better hiding place for it, the notebook cannot be used for important information about ourselves."

Sadaharu nodded. "Of course." 

He held out his pinky; they shook. 

"I don't like girls," Renji said. 

Sadaharu waited for him to continue. When he didn't, Sadaharu tilted his head to one side. "Well. I don't either. They're bad at tennis."

"I mean I don't like girls outside of tennis. I like boys."

"Oh." Sadaharu blinked. "Is that important?"

"It means I'm different."

"I like you because you're different."

"This is a bad sort of different," Renji said. "Asumi-neesan told me lots of people think it's wrong."

"Lots of people are wrong about lots of things."

"I know." Renji poked at the flashlight. "Do you like boys?"

Sadaharu wrinkled his nose. "No. I like tennis."

"I don't think it works like that."

"How come?"

"I just don't think it does."

"I think we should collect more data before jumping to conclusions."

"And how would we do that?"

That made Sadaharu pause. "I don't know," he said sheepishly. 

Renji smiled to himself. "We can go to the library tomorrow and find some books," he decided, and Sadaharu nodded with enthusiasm. 

He opened another packet of rice crackers and offered one to Sadaharu. There was a small mess of crumbs on the floor of their blanket fort by now. Renji would clean it up later.

"Hey, Sadaharu?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad we're friends."

 

* * *

 

October arrives with rain. Morning sees Renji's window stuck in its frame, the wood heavy and swollen from the moisture. He rubs away the fog in the panes to behold a drizzling sky.

His tenth graders are finishing up their Murakami unit. On Wednesday, Renji gives them half a class period to outline their final essays. After school, Harino-sensei knocks on his classroom door. She has taken to bringing him tea every so often. The tea is always in a styrofoam cup and the teabags are from the faculty break room. Renji thanks her anyway, and she doesn't push.

It's been three weeks. He thinks about calling Niou. 

Niou calls him first. "How's Saturday?" he asks.

Renji thinks about the essays he has to grade, the clutter in his apartment, tea and weights and what it means to say yes.

That Sunday, Renji wakes up with the mid-morning sun shining into his face. The window is open, and the space beside him is empty. He finds Niou poking around the kitchen, looking for something to eat.

"Coffee?" Renji offers. 

Niou finds bread in his fridge. "Sure. You have a toaster?"

Renji points to the cupboard. Niou has to stand on tip-toe to get it, but he doesn't ask for help.

"I took a job," Niou says. "In Osaka."

"Acting?"

"Yeah. Temporary. Might not go anywhere."

Renji pours water into the coffeemaker. Niou toasts the bread; it comes out slightly burnt on one side. Renji sets two plates and Niou finds the cutlery after a bit of searching.

"Osaka's nice," Renji says.

"Thought you said Osaka got slow after a while."

So he did. "I don't mind, sometimes." Slow can be good.

 

* * *

 

They don't talk about it, because they don't need to.

Mid-October, Seiichi loses the final in Paris. Renji watches the match at Niou's pad in Osaka. Usually Niou comes to Takatsuki instead, on weekends and the odd day off. More often than not, he stays the night, and Renji always wakes up first. His futon isn't really made for two. He wonders if he should get a bigger one, or if that would be presumptuous. The idea doesn't panic him as much as it should, he thinks, lying awake and checking emails on his phone while Niou snores beside him.

One Saturday, Gen'ichirou sends a brief message to say he's in the middle of moving, apologies for writing less than usual this week. He includes a photo of the apartment.

Niou wakes up to an odd snorting sound. "What's so funny?" he mumbles.

Renji passes his phone over to show Niou the photo. Lying atop a stack of unopened boxes in Gen'ichirou new living room is the Sanada family rock.

It takes ten minutes for Niou to stop laughing, and twenty before Renji manages to get them both out of bed. The shower takes another thirty. Renji probably should have protested harder when Niou dragged him into the bathroom.

"What's going on with Sanada these days anyway?" Niou asks later.

Renji cuts the burnt crust off his toast and thinks back to Gen'ichirou's emails. "Departmental reorganization at his company. He's moving out to Nagoya."

"He stayed in Kanagawa all this time?"

"He went to Tokyo for university. But after that, yes."

"Huh. Must've been the only one to stick around so long."

"Akaya and Seiichi left early, of course. Jackal went back to Brazil. But Marui is still there, as far as I know."

Niou is giving him a funny look. Renji realizes belatedly that he probably wasn't expecting an answer.

"You keep tabs on everyone?"

Renji shrugs. "You and Yagyuu both disappeared after high school."

Niou's smile turns sour at that name. 

"He would."

The ensuing silence is cold. Renji pours more water for them both.

"I'm sorry," he begins.

"Don't." Niou glances at him, then down again. "Don't be sorry."

Ten years ago, he would have dropped it. Ten years ago, he didn't want this part of anyone's life. But it's ten years later, and Renji asks, "Were you together?"

Niou drinks his water. He gets up and goes to the fridge, comes back with two ice cubes. He offers one to Renji, who declines. Niou drops both into his own glass. 

"Yagyuu made me crazy," he says, as if picking up an interrupted thought. "Real crazy, not in a good way. Remember junior high graduation?"

"You had a bruise."

"Yeah, and a split lip. Hurt like a bitch. That was 'cause of him."

"Did he—"

"No, he—not exactly. It's just we pushed each other over the edge. Things we wouldn't do normally on our own, we did it all together."

"The prank you pulled on Akaya?"

"Yeah. And more dangerous stuff."

"Like what?"

"Jumped off a bridge once." At Renji's expression, Niou adds, "It was a small bridge."

"Still."

"Haven't done it since."

Renji examines his breakfast for a moment. "So what happened? For graduation?"

"I said I could pick any lock, so we broke into the school after hours the night before. It was his idea of a challenge. He got away clean, but I fell when we were climbing the fence." Niou pauses to gauge Renji's reaction. He smirks. "You don't believe me."

Renji chooses the diplomatic answer. "It was a long time ago."

"Yeah?" Niou presses the edge of his glass to his lip. "Seems like yesterday."

 

* * *

 

Gen'ichirou had always had his own way of looking after people, and by the end of third year, it was getting on Seiichi's last nerve.

"I'm trying to figure out a way to say stop treating me like a fragile flower without insulting his sense of honor," Seiichi said, stabbing at his lunch. They were eating together on the roof, just the two of them, after Seiichi had summarily banished Akaya downstairs. "I wish he would, I don't know, actually act his age sometimes. I worry about him."

"Most people would not worry about Sanada Gen'ichirou," Renji observed.

Seiichi flicked a grain of rice at him. "I'm not most people."

"That's probably why."

There was a pause. Seiichi narrowed his eyes. 

"What are you getting at?"

"What do you mean?"

"Renji." 

Seiichi was using his buchou voice. Renji met his gaze calmly, reminding his friend that he was impervious to this particular tactic. The other boy made a face.

"Just tell me."

Renji resumed eating. "I meant exactly what you think I meant."

Seiichi frowned. "I don't like Gen'ichirou."

"Clearly."

"Stop that."

"All right."

"I mean it." Seiichi's tone had lost its belligerent edge.

Renji sighed inwardly. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be mean."

Seiichi picked at his food. The silence went on for so long that Renji thought the conversation over. Then Seiichi pushed his lunch away, folded his arms, looked Renji in the eye and asked,

"What are you doing on Saturday?"

"We have practice in the afternoon."

"The season's over."

"Practices still run until the end of the year. You can't just dump captaincy on Akaya and walk away."

"We can go for a bit," Seiichi said impatiently. "But after. Are you doing anything after?"

"Nothing important. Why?"

"Go out with me."

Renji nearly dropped a chopstick. "I—sorry?"

"Go on a date with me." Seiichi had the same determined look as when he was on the tennis court. "I like you."

That was—no. "You like Gen'ichirou."

"Yeah, and he's _straight_ ," Seiichi growled. "That's never going anywhere, so why are you encouraging me?"

Renji opened his mouth. Closed it. He took a deep breath. "We don't have those kinds of feelings for each other."

"We could. We both prefer guys."

"That doesn't mean we have to like each other."

"Doesn't it?" Seiichi snapped the lid onto his lunchbox, glaring at the tupperware as if it were to blame. "We're practically set up for it. If this was a manga we'd be making out behind the clubhouse already."

"That's fiction."

"Says the lit geek."

"That's different."

"How?"

"It's not cliche."

Seiichi's lip curled. "You think I'm a cliche?"

"No," said Renji. "But I don't want to be."

It was an old, familiar story. Boy meets girl — or in this case, boy meets Gen'ichirou. Boy pines after Gen'ichirou for years, while his friend teases and supports him. Eventually boy understands that he's been chasing after the wrong person, notices the one who's been there all along, and realizes they're perfect for each other because they're best friends. 

But it's _because_ they're best friends, Renji thought. The unhappy set of Seiichi's lips was already twisting his stomach into knots.

Seiichi blew out a breath. He laughed. "Well, it was worth a shot."

 _Was it?_ Renji didn't ask. Guilt made him say, "If you want to, maybe..."

Seiichi looked confused at first. Then his eyes widened. "No. _No,_ oh my god, shut up. Do I look like a pity case to you?"

"No." Renji considered his own motives carefully. The opposite of cliche wasn't shock, after all; it was truth. "What I mean is, you're a very attractive person, and not just in terms of personality."

Seiichi stared. Renji told himself not to look away. 

Finally, Seiichi cracked a smile. "Thanks," he said, and stole a piece of grilled fish from Renji's lunch. Renji let him.

 

* * *

 

He gets the call at noon on a Sunday, mid-November. Renji assures that it's fine, he has the afternoon free, and gives directions to his apartment from the train station. 

"Gen'ichirou is in town," he tells Niou after he hangs up. "He's coming over later."

Niou makes a show of looking down at the futon he's still lying on, then at Renji, who'd been in the middle of getting dressed when Gen'ichirou called. "Should I leave?"

Renji goes to the closet to find a shirt. "Stay," he says, "if you want."

"You sure?"

"Only if you want."

Arms circle his waist from behind. Niou kisses his neck, using a bit of teeth. Renji nearly drops a coat hanger. 

"Really, really sure?"

"Go get dressed."

"You first."

Renji slaps at Niou's hand when it starts creeping toward the waistband of his shorts. "Haven't you had enough?"

"Not my fault you're sexy." 

It's a losing battle anyway. Renji grabs his arm and spins them around so Niou's back hits the wall. A grunt of pain turns into an appreciative hum when Renji kisses him, hard, sweeps his palm down Niou's side and then over the curve of his ass. 

By the time he pulls away, Niou is using the wall to hold himself up. "You're a bastard."

"I'm sure."

While Niou takes a shower, Renji puts away the futon and starts tidying the apartment. There's not much to be done about all the papers on his desk, but he puts Niou's books back in their corner of the bookshelf and airs out the room. By then Niou is finally dressed, so Renji makes him wash the dishes while he himself goes down to the corner mart for fresh fruit.

He times that run poorly. When he gets back to his apartment, Gen'ichirou is already in the sitting room. His posture is stiff, and Niou has a sharp little smile on his lips.

"There you are," Niou chirps when he sees Renji. He gets up, dusting off his trousers. "Thought you'd gotten lost."

"Gen'ichirou," Renji says in greeting. "Did you wait long?"

"Not long," Gen'ichirou replies. "My meeting ended early. I'm sorry to intrude."

"Not at all."

Renji toes off his shoes. He stops Niou when the other man tries to edge past him to the door. He pitches his voice so it won't carry, "You're leaving right now?"

"Yeah. I remembered something."

"What?"

"I'm not good company."

Renji pauses. Then, very pointedly, he leans in and kisses Niou. "I'll see you Thursday."

Niou gives him a long look. A slow shadow of amusement creeps into his eyes. "Bye, Sanada," he calls over his shoulder. His thumb brushes across Renji's lower lip, and then he's gone. 

Renji locks the door. He turns back to find disapproval written all over Gen'ichirou's face, though he's far too polite to say anything about the display. Renji knows. For all his stoic mannerisms, Gen'ichirou is like an open book to his friends.

The shopping bag is cutting into his palm. "Tea?" he asks.

Gen'ichirou nods. "Thank you."

Renji makes tea, peels and cuts the apple he bought, and brings both back to the sitting room. Gen'ichirou accepts the tea with thanks. Renji studies him over the table. Gen'ichirou looks much the same as he remembered from the last time they saw each other. His expression is still like granite. Renji thinks he sees a few white hairs. 

"I'm sorry for not being here when you arrived," Renji says. "Will you be staying for dinner?"

"Ah. I don't want to inconvenience you."

"It wouldn't be any trouble. Actually, my nikujaga recipe has gotten quite good."

Gen'ichirou looks skeptical. "I hope you're not still treating cooking like a science experiment."

"Making mistakes is part of the learning process."

"I remember."

They grin at each other at the same time.

"How have you been, Gen'ichirou?"

"Well enough. I should ask you instead. You never say much in your e-mails."

Renji can practically hear the hyphen. "There's not much to tell."

They discuss Osaka, Kanagawa, Seiichi's matches, and Renji's classes. Gen'ichirou makes a pained expression when Renji describes some of his students' less successful attempts at understanding historical literature.

"They're making kids dumber these days."

"We weren't much different at that age."

"You were always the smartest." Gen'ichirou's tone is matter-of-fact. "But even I never wrote something like, _The rabbit is dead because it fits the metaphor of an unrequited crush._ "

Renji laughs. "You thought crushes were foolish."

"I was fourteen."

"And now?"

"I've grown up. It's not my business what other people do."

"Ah." 

Renji watches the conversation grind to a halt.

Gen'ichirou shifts awkwardly. Renji pushes the plate of apple slices closer to him. They each take one and eat in silence; the crunching is absurdly loud to Renji's ears. 

"You don't approve," he observes.

Gen'ichirou swallows. "I wouldn't say that."

"What would you say?"

"It's... I didn't expect to find him here."

"I see."

"I'm no authority on this."

"I gathered."

That was cruel of him, Renji knows, and hurt flashes across Gen'ichirou's face. He can't bring himself to apologize. 

"But is this what you really want?" Gen'ichirou asks. "I never imagined you living this kind of life."

"I prefer men. This is my kind of life."

"That's not what I meant."

"Isn't it?"

"No. I don't think you're the type of person to settle for something just because it's what you know."

Renji looks down at his tea. "That's not why."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Perhaps I like my job."

"I know you better than that."

"And I'd hoped you would think better of me than that."

The silence sits heavy on his shoulders this time. It takes Renji two tries to summon the strength to shrug it off. He offers a smile.

"Forgive me. It's the rain lately. I don't suppose you've had much more sun in Nagoya?"

Gen'ichirou lets him change the subject, and Renji keeps smiling. They talk about tennis, novels, the news, the weather. They're both going home to Kanagawa for the New Year. Renji suggests they meet up again then. Gen'ichirou says he will check his schedule.

He doesn't stay for dinner.

 

* * *

 

When Harino-sensei asks him out again later that week, Renji tells her that he's seeing someone.

 

* * *

 

To the outside world, Niou Masaharu is volatile energy and casual disregard, the eye of chaos, a storm. Renji likes this version of him the way a moth likes flames or a child stands on a guard rail and peers over at the drop on the other side. But he prefers the real Masaharu, the one who sits still when he listens and drags Renji outside when it's sunny — late November, tennis weather — following his moods like a compass needle seeking north.

Renji likes it when they spend evenings in, reading, fucking, talking only when they want. Likes kissing him against the door before he leaves in the mornings. They're both a bit weird about goodbyes. 

Sometimes Renji watches him sleep, and remembers Gen'ichirou's words.

If there's anyone who needs the world to make sense just as much as he does, Renji thinks, then it's Gen'ichirou. The trouble is that their versions of sense are not always the same. Not this time. Because when stories are about to end in a way that Renji doesn't like, he stops, runs away; whereas Gen'ichirou shoulders through, like mountains weathering a storm or a sparrow beating itself to death against glass.

But Niou Masaharu is not something to be weathered — only wanted.

 

* * *

 

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You've been staring at me all evening when you think I'm not looking."

"You're nice to look at."

"I can see right through you, Niou Masaharu."

"Then tell me what I'm thinking."

"You want something from me, something that you think I'll say no to. So now you're playing games."

"Wrong."

"You're doing it right now."

"I just can't believe you're here."

"Are you practicing your lines on me again?"

"No."

He crosses the room and peers at the book Renji is reading. Renji raises an eyebrow. Masaharu shrugs, flops sideways on the couch so his feet are on the armrest and his head in Renji's lap.

Renji considers putting the book on his face. He settles for holding it one-handed, curling his other arm around Masaharu's waist.

"You can just ask," Renji says eventually.

"You're imagining things."

"According to Plato—"

A groan. "Spare me."

Renji smiles, and they lapse into comfortable silence. It's a slow Thursday night.

"I'm glad I found you here," Masaharu muses at some point. "Selfishly. But I'm glad."

Renji looks down and sees him grinning, all teeth and sharp edges, eyes glinting dark. A moment later Renji has been relieved of his book. Masaharu straddles him, shadows him, and then they're kissing, insistent, push and pull and teeth sinking into lips, every sharp edge a hook.

 

* * *

 

 _I'm sorry_ , Gen'ichirou writes on Saturday.

 

* * *

 

It would be so easy, Renji thinks, to learn to love this.

He makes the decision in early December, four weeks before he goes home to Kanagawa to spend the New Year with his parents. Masaharu is flying out to Shanghai. For work, possibly. Renji goes to Osaka that weekend and brings takeaway, because Masaharu has put off packing until the last minute again, and Renji thinks he might actually miss his flight this time.

He's proven wrong when Masaharu zips up his bag with an hour to spare. They eat in front of the TV, the channel tuned to a news broadcast for background noise. 

"When are you coming back?" Masaharu asks.

Renji pokes at the last piece of chicken in the carton, wondering if it's burnt or just extra orange. "The third," he says. "Same day as you."

Masaharu leaves the spare keys in the kitchen. Renji stays behind to wash the plates. He's leaving tomorrow, so there's time. 

He goes to bed late, takes the first train out to Yokohama in the morning, and dozes through the two hour ride. They've practically been living together these past two months, he thinks.

"I'm going back to school," he tells his mother after hatsumoude. "Abroad. I sent in the applications last week."

 

* * *

 

"Where'd you go with your family?"

"Kawasaki Daishi. You?"

"I was in China."

"They have shrines in China."

"Probably. What did you wish for?"

"Good health and peace of mind."

Masaharu grins. "Trying to get rid of me?"

Renji combs his fingers through Masaharu's hair. "Just the opposite," he says.

 

* * *

 

During Renji's second year of university, Seiichi came back to Tokyo after crashing out of the last tournament of the season. They went to an art exhibit, then Seiichi dragged him to a dessert place for ice cream.

"It's hard watching you lose," Renji admitted. 

Once upon a time, Seiichi would have found it unbearable, too. Playing professionally had changed him. Now he just shrugged.

"Skip the live broadcasts. I'll call you when I play well and you can watch those."

"Knowing you, that would be never."

"You calling me a perfectionist?"

"Try anal."

"What makes you think I haven't?"

Renji spluttered on his coke float. Seiichi kept a straight face for all of half a second. Renji threw a napkin at him.

"You're blushing," Seiichi snickered.

"Is that what you've been doing on tour then?"

Seiichi rolled his eyes. "As if I have time. All those gimmicky sponsor events and then the endless economy flights. Sometimes I forget what city I'm in."

"Ah. Are you going to Miami directly after this?"

"Yeah. I mean, I should be there already but I haven't been home in a while, so."

Renji stirred his float. "I wish they had more tournaments in Japan, so I could see you more often."

"That'd be nice," Seiichi agreed. Then he got that thoughtful look, and Renji knew what was coming next. "Or you could do something about that yourself. My offer still stands: hitting partner, manager, mastermind-in-chief, whatever. I'd love to have you come work with me."

They had this conversation about once a year. "Maybe after university, if you still want me to."

That made Seiichi snort. "More like you won't want to."

"I don't break promises."

"You're not making me a promise." Seiichi propped his chin on one hand, grinning at him. "I know you, Yanagi Renji."

"And yet you keep asking."

"Can't blame me for trying." Seiichi's smile turned soft. "Whatever makes you happy, you know? How are you, anyway?"

Renji thought about it before answering. Normally he would say he was fine, because that was what other people expected to hear. But this was Seiichi. 

"I've been better," he admitted.

"School related?"

"School is fine. I'm just..." It sounded ridiculous even in his own head. "Sometimes I can't do anything, my reading or writing or anything."

Seiichi's brow furrowed slightly. "Are you not feeling well?"

"No. Physically, I'm fine. So I don't know."

They fell silent, and Seiichi didn't try to fill the space with platitudes. This was why people loved Seiichi, Renji thought. Because when he listened, he actually tried to hear. 

"I think," Renji said at length, "I'm afraid."

"What of?"

"That's the question."

"Have you talked to anyone about it?"

"Why? I'm not in any academic difficulty. I'm an outstanding student, and my advisor is already talking about graduate school. There's no reason for me to complain."

Seiichi shook his head. "Being the best isn't the same as being happy."

"But I'm not the best."

A pause.

"And that bothers you," Seiichi said gently.

Renji couldn't meet his gaze. "Not really. Just sometimes."

"Sometimes when you freeze up." Seichii reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "Renji, I know. We played tennis together, didn't we? I know what that feels like."

"Then what do you think I should do about it?"

"Just what we always did."

"I can't exactly put ankle weights on an essay and make it run laps, you know."

Seiichi pinched his wrist for that. "It's the same trick," he said. "The hardest part is wanting to take that first step. After that, it's just moving one foot and then the other and not stopping."

 

* * *

 

Masaharu finds out first. 

Renji comes home one Friday in February and Masaharu is sitting at his desk, chair tilted back at a crazy angle and his lips slashed into a smile. There's an envelope lying atop a stack of books in front of him. Renji can see the university seal from the door. 

"Cambridge," Masaharu says.

Renji puts away his shoes and hurries over to pick up the letter. It's heavy. A rejection notice would be a simple slip of paper. Not this.

The chair crashes back upright. Masaharu stands with his hands in his pockets, keeping the desk between them. 

"Were you going to dump me before or after you'd gotten on the plane?"

"I was going to tell you."

"Which is why you waited three months."

Renji puts the letter down. "I'm sorry," he says. 

He tenses when Masaharu grabs his shirt, preparing for the blow. He deserves it, he thinks. He's expected this all along. The accusations. The fight.

What he doesn't expect is to be backed against the wall and kissed within an inch of his life. He resists at first, confused. Their jaws collide awkwardly, teeth leaving a tingling ache. Then Masaharu slides a hand into his hair and holds him in place while his tongue proceeds to extract most of Renji's higher thought processes. Renji is dimly aware of his knees going weak.

Masaharu sucks at his lower lip, scrapes his teeth across before letting go. He presses one final, chaste kiss to the corner of Renji's mouth. His grin is crooked.

"Good luck in England."

His duffel bag is by the desk — already packed. Masaharu puts down his keys next to the acceptance letter, and Renji watches him leave.

 

* * *

 

He will spend two years abroad, maybe more. He will spend sleepless nights writing and afternoons in bustling coffee shops. He will read literature and history and walk well-worn stone and hold books loved by generations before him and generations to come. 

He will return to Japan, years later, and take up a university position. He will write books. Attend conferences. Return to England on occasion, when he is able. He will conduct research in libraries across the world, traveling in body and mind until unfamiliar places become like a second childhood, the way Takatsuki never will be. 

And sometimes, perhaps, on quiet nights in Kyoto, Cambridge, Trieste, he will let himself wonder who might have been at each airport, through all this time, to see him leave and to welcome him home.

 

* * *

 

Renji knocks on the door and waits. They both know he still has a key, and he saw the light was on. He knocks again.

The door falls away before his knuckles can make contact a second time. Masaharu stands there, one arm propped against the door to keep it half-closed. "I have a very nosy neighbor. She's going to start gossip about us if you keep doing that."

"I don't care."

"Well, I do."

"Please let me in."

That earns him a glare. Renji holds his ground, and Masaharu snorts something inaudible and steps back into his apartment. Renji closes the door behind himself. He finds Masaharu in the kitchen, setting a kettle on the stove with unnecessary force. 

"What do you want, Renji?"

"I came to apologize."

"I didn't ask you to."

"I wanted to."

Masaharu leans against the counter, arms crossed. "All right."

"All right?"

"You want to apologize, so let's hear it."

Renji takes a moment to gather his thoughts. "I'm sorry for not telling you I was thinking of going back to school. I'm sorry you had to find out like that. I'm sorry for not including you in those plans." He takes a breath. "I'm sorry for lying to you."

A beat. 

Masaharu glances at him. "You done?"

Renji nods. 

"Apology not accepted."

"I understand if you don't want to forgive me."

"You don't understand _shit_." Masaharu's smirk is nearer to a grimace. "You think all those reasons, that's why I left? That's what you think?"

"What was I supposed to think?"

"If you actually thought about it, you'd know."

"Well, I don't!" Renji balls his hands into fists. "I'm sorry. I don't know, and I'm sorry if that disappoints you."

"Stop _apologizing_ ," Masaharu snarls.

"I don't know what you _want from me._ "

"I want you to _ask_ for what you want! I want you to go after it! The way you're supposed to, like calling my number and going to dinner and fucking me like you wanted, like applying to Cambridge and going back to school because that's what you fucking _want_."

The kettle rattles on the stove. 

"You left because I chose graduate school," Renji says into the silence.

Masaharu yanks a cupboard open and pulls out two mugs. "I left because you can't take a rejection."

"I'm taking one right now, aren't I?"

"You made this one happen." Masaharu drops teabags into the mugs. "You made it impossible for me to stay so you couldn't be rejected by choice. That's what you settle for."

Renji presses a hand to his ribcage. He wonders if it's possible to be bruised from the inside by a beating heart. "That's not what happened."

"And you're good at lying to yourself."

"I wasn't trying to chase you away."

"No, you were hoping for a fairytale." Masaharu's lip curls. "What did you think I'd do? That when push comes to shove, we'd stay together somehow? Just for shock value? That if you left it to the last minute, I'd realize I'm so in love with you that I couldn't possibly go?"

"That's not— I wasn't under any such delusion."

"Well, good. Because it doesn't work like that."

The kettle is whistling. Masaharu brushes past Renji to turn off the stove. He pours hot water into both mugs, takes one and walks out of the kitchen. Renji stares at the other mug — his mug, green with a slightly chipped handle — and breathes.

In the sitting room, Masaharu is standing by the window, tea cooling on the sill. He looks up when Renji enters, and Renji stops.

"I'm a fuck up," he says. "Masaharu, I'm sorry."

"I told you to stop apologizing."

"Not when I finally know what I'm apologizing for."

Masaharu snorts, crosses his arms. "You could have just asked."

Renji takes one hesitant step forward. Masaharu doesn't say anything. So he takes another, and another, until they have the window framed between them. Masaharu watches him, waiting.

"I don't know when I'll be back," Renji says. "It could be one year. It could be five. I don't know where you'll be."

"I know."

"I can't ask you to wait for me."

Masaharu's smile is somewhere between scorn and regret. He reaches out to smooth the front of Renji's shirt. "I wouldn't wait for you anyway."

Renji finds himself instinctively leaning closer. He stops when Masaharu turns his face aside. But before he can take a step back, wiry arms are sliding around him, tightening until they're chest to chest. Masaharu hooks his chin over Renji's shoulder. 

The steaming tea has left a damp patch on the window pane. Renji watches a bead condense, grow heavy, until it finally rolls earthward down.

Masaharu sighs against his neck. "It's over," he murmurs. "But it was good, yeah?"

His hair tickles Renji's ear.

"Yeah," Renji says. "It was."

_-end-_


End file.
